Mannequin
by Whispers To Kill
Summary: Abhorrence for her figure seized her and shook her with vehement force, but she refused to glance away. This detestable picture was her punishment, and the woe it provided was the critical motivation necessary for her to achieve perfection and happiness. [Eating Disorder Trigger Warning] [Female!America] [FACE AU]


**Trigger Warning: Graphic descriptions of purging & eating disordered behaviors/thoughts.**

**National Eating Disorders Association: 1-800-93102237**

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Her posture matched the erect rigidness of a fashion mannequin, though she never felt nearly as beautiful; her body trembled with anguish as her eyes drank in her horrendous reflection. Her form was appalling, and she winced at the image, cringing and averting her eyes in agony. Abhorrence for her figure seized her and shook her with vehement force, but she refused to glance away. This detestable picture was her punishment, and the woe it provided was the critical motivation necessary for her to achieve perfection and happiness.

Her hair no longer shimmered in a luscious, flaxen bob; instead, it trickled from her scalp in thin, lusterless strings, and the brittle strands wriggled like tape worms under the current from the air vent above her in a sickly, repellent waltz. Her skin resembled wilted daisy petals with its dry, cracked texture and tarnished, pallid complexion. Her lips were caked with flakes of deceased skin; smiles stung and caused her to bleed. The eyes that stared back at her own were little more than a murky topaz void. It was impalpable that they could belong to her when she had once been frivolous and vivacious; it was impalpable that they could belong to the living.

Her fingers quivered as they rose to trace the skin her collar bones were hidden beneath. She shrugged her shoulders upward and then forward and observed as her muscles tensed and two triangles of sickening flesh sank into her body. The beautiful collar bones she yearned for revealed themselves gracefully. She ran her fingers along the bones and fell into wonderful dreams as she imagined how lovely she would appear when they protruded from beneath her repulsive flesh.

Her hands fluttered downward, and she paused to cup her breasts; both had become smaller and struggled to fill the palms of her hands. Vaguely, the observation disturbed her. Her fingertips slid beneath her bosom to grasp the plump sides of her body. She dug her fingers into the repellent flesh, groping at the ridges of her ribs as if she hoped she could grasp the bones and pull them out from beneath her terrible skin. She pushed her chest out, raised her arms above her head, and twisted from side to side in a desperate attempt to force them to appear and ripple against her outer body. Her attempts reaped little reward, and her chest struggled to suppress the sobs inside her.

Dolor wrenched her heart as she fixated on her stomach; the hideous, bloated region protruded like a balloon, continuously increasing in size despite all her efforts. Hysterically, she grabbed fistfuls of the fat, dug her nails deep into the flesh, and wretched her hands forward in an attempt to tear the grotesque substance from her body; her stubby nails left ugly rosy pinstripes in their wake. She turned her body and observed the revolting curvature, and wrapped her arms around her form as a whimper escaped her lips. The awful jiggling of fat with each sob tormented her being, and though she was desperate for the comfort of her own arms, the agony of grasping her own body was too insufferable to endure.

With her remaining strength, she summoned her eyes to gaze at her thighs; her stomach convulsed with nausea at the image. The thick, wobbly fat on each leg morphed together to create an one-legged monster from her form. Each limb was a thick column of flesh neither dainty nor long nor slender nor beautiful. The sight was unendurable, and she flung herself from the mirror to her bed. She quickly concealed her hideous figure beneath the covers, carefully arranging her body so she would not be forced to feel the excessive flesh press together or form homely rolls.

She loathed each cell of her body and spited herself for each meal she had ever eaten. How could she have ever allowed herself to consume the various foods she had? What a despicable and undisciplined fool! She was a failure; she was worthless. She was neither beautiful nor intelligent nor pleasant. She provided her family with only grief and disgust – how selfish and terrible she was to force them to look upon her body each day! She was nothing more than a roach on the wall, pitiful and worthless. She was a failure and a disgrace. She was fat and nothing more.

"It's dinner time, Amelia!" Her trance was shattered.

"I'm too sick to eat," she whispered.


End file.
